Thank you for being the best childhood home a girl could ask for. I'll miss the small joy of stepping on that particularly crunchy leaf, the way the air smells right before snowfall, and that general New England spirit. I've lived in New England for twenty-two years now, and I'm ready for a change. This part of the country has seen me at my best, and also at my worst.
It's now less than twelve hours before I set off for California with my mother; I keep rearranging the boxes in the car (just a bit, Mom, promise) and trying to decide if, yes, this is a good time to become a coffee drinker. (It's not. I still don't like it.) Right now, there is the oddest sensation of too many sensations. Excitement ripples through me constantly and fear gnaws on my nerves. I'm setting out on the journey of a lifetime that only happens to be mirrored by an actual journey. It wasn't until today that I realized how surreal all of this is. Part of me always expected to be in my childhood and teenage home, even though I knew that would never happen. In the very least, Mom and Dad would kick me out. Or we'd all murder each other. The usual.
So, reader, here we go.
Time waits for no one, least of all me.
Becca
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